Today we continue our Holiday Season Extravaganza.  Between now and December 25, we will share what it means to celebrate the holidays — Life in Pencil style.

Posted by Elizabeth

Old Town, Albuquerque

This past weekend was what I affectionately dubbed “My Crazy Holiday Weekend,” a flurry of activity crammed into the 60 hours between Friday morning and Sunday evening.  There was a Charles Dickens Tea with my friend, Paris, where we munched on Great Expectations Beef Wellington, Tiny Tim’s Stuffed Cherry Tomato, and Little Dorrit’s Sticky Toffee Pudding amid a cozy tearoom bathed in soft light and merry music.  After that was shopping in Old Town, the ancient adobe buildings draped in swags of evergreen and crowed with old-fashioned luminarias, the original New Mexican holiday decoration.  There was dinner with Ignacio and Anna at an old-fashioned hacienda on the outskirts of town, where they serve killer drinks and smoky-hot enchiladas, a final “hurrah” before we leave town for the holidays.  There was a just-because brunch with my friend, Sarah, and the neighborhood holiday party, where we hobnobbed with neighbors we see but once a year.  But amidst all the hustle and bustle, I found a few hours of quiet reflection in the most unlikely of places:  a holiday sing-a-long.

Singing used to be a huge part of the season for me.  For the six years between junior high and high school graduation, the weekends during the month of December were booked solid with a never-ending parade of vocal recitals and Christmas concerts, a multilingual cavalcade of music.  The rhythm of our household danced to the beat of music one month of the year, leaving little time for other holiday revelry.  And that was okay with us.  When I was 12, I remember my first concert with the Seattle Girls’ Choir, our voices filling one of the mammoth downtown churches.  Ask my dad to recall a Christmas memory, and he will tell you about the time my choir sang on the Seattle Waterfront, a string of teenage girls forming a processional into the space, candles casting a soft glow on our faces, as my solo voice rang out acapella over the crowded room…

Veni, veni Emmanuel;
Captivum solve Israel,
Qui gemit in exilio,
Privatus Dei Filio.
Gaude! Gaude! Emmanuel,
Nascetur pro te, Israel.

He remembers the words to this day.

When I got invited to a holiday sing-a-long at The Jobe’s this Saturday, I was immediately transported back to this time in life when singing was synonymous with the holidays.  I eagerly accepted the invitation, excited to join voices with a group, something I hadn’t done in nearly 13 years.  The house was aglow with twinkly lights, a sweet little Christmas tree, laced with strands of popcorn, perched in the front window.  I stepped into the house, which was filled with the aroma of posole, a Mexican stew studded with giant kernels of hominy and pork that is traditionally served during the holidays.  A felt banner with the 12 Days of Christmas, stitched years ago, lined the mantel, and a Nativity scene, graced with real frankincense, took center stage.  As is always the case at The Jobe’s, I felt as if I had stepped back in time.

LiP Reader ABF and daughter, Madison, nestled together after the sing-a-long.

Mrs. Jobe distributed songbooks, “The Annual Jobe Family Sing-a-Long” scrawled by hand on the front in silvery letters, to our little group, our numbers having dwindled in the hours before the party from 18 to eight, before settling herself at the piano.  For an hour she plunked out familiar songs, and we smiled at one another as we sang Silver Bells and Silent Night. I learned Christmas in Killarney, a Jobe Family favorite that I had never heard before.  When we sang Santa Claus is Coming to Town, I laughed and told the group that I hated the song:   my dad always sang it to me when I was being bad, the lines, “He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or good” setting me sobbing every time.

At the end, Mr. Jobe called to Mrs. Jobe, “Get me my broom, Mary.”  Recovering from a knee surgery, Mr. Jobe propped himself on the edge of his plush recliner, clutching his weathered broom in one hand, and started to tell a story.

“Back when I was growing up — this is 70 years ago now – I went to a country school.  Every year we had a Christmas party.  We didn’t give much because there wasn’t much to give, but Santa Claus came and all the children got a piece of candy.  There was a Christmas pageant, and at the end, when it was time to go home, a first-grader was selected to give a little speech at the end.  When I was in first grade, I was that boy.  I stood on the stage with a broom, making like a janitor, and said this poem.”

Mr. Jobe recited a poem from memory, “The Janitor’s Ode,” which said, in a nutshell, “the show’s over, get your kids and go on home now.”  And with that, the singing was over and we adjourned to the warmth of the kitchen, where we ladled big bowls of posole and a steaming plate of fresh pinto beans.  Our little party sat around the table, where we caught up, sotto voce, on the last three months since I’d seen them.

As I made my way out to the car as night began to fall, it struck me that the tradition of singing during the holidays wasn’t about the quality of the voices or the repertoire or the music.  It was about coming together for a moment in time, being one united voice, if only for an hour.  It was about a brief respite of solitude cutting through the frenetic energy of the season.  Even though those holidays of my youth, revolving around a busy performance schedule, were action-packed, once we hit the stage, our voices raised in unison, the concerns of the outside world disappeared.  Because when we sing, we can be nowhere other than exactly where we are.

Which holiday activities or rituals transport you to the past while keeping you grounded in the present?  What’s your favorite holiday song?  Does a sing-a-long sound like fun, or your worst nightmare?  Where do you find community this time of year?

In New Mexico, nothing brings a group together quicker than posole, and you won’t find a holiday party without a pot simmering on the stove.  If you’re looking for a taste of New Mexico this December, try my mother-in-law’s recipe, which she makes every year.

Cecilia’s Posole

1 large pork roast, cut into bite-sized pieces
1 espinazo (pork back) – she insists you need the bones to flavor the broth
8 cups water, or enough to keep pork submerged in pot
9 garlic cloves, divided
5 to 10 dried California chiles, washed and deseeded (use gloves!)
1 medium onion, chopped
Pinch of cumin
Salt and pepper to taste
10 to 12 cans of white hominy, drained of any liquid

Add chopped pork roast, espinazo, 5 garlic cloves, water, and salt and pepper to taste in a very large Dutch oven or soup pot.  Simmer until pork is throughly cooked, about an hour.  Meanwhile, simmer chiles with plenty of water, about an hour.  Strain chiles, reserving the cooking water.  Add chiles to blender with onion, a pinch of cumin, 4 garlic cloves, and enough of the reserved cooking water to achieve a proper sauce-like consistency (start small, and add more water as needed — it should be neither too thin or too thick).  Add hominy and chile sauce to the stock, and let it simmer until meat is very tender.  Remove bones from stock.

Serves a LOT.  This is a party stew!